A large cruise ship emerged from that gap and dwarfed everything else. I glanced out to sea—-two more massive ships steamed toward St. Thomas, ready to deposit happy-go-lucky vacationers in one of the busiest ports in the Caribbean.
Just as Jeremy let off on the throttles I checked my watch: 7:45. I’d make it.
The phone vibrated in my pocket. For once I was glad to see YOUR MASTER on the screen, hoping Booth had some good news for me.
“Tell me something useful.”
“About time you answered the damn phone. Been trying for an hour.”
“Got my hands full down here, Booth. Have you paved the way for me to land the Beast—er, my plane—in BVI waters yet? I’ve got a hell of a lot—”
“Don’t start bossing me around, hotshot, and what the hell are you doing calling known criminals on that phone I gave you?”
Crap. I’d texted Diego.
Jeremy was idling the boat toward the dock where the shuttle from Frenchman’s Reef goes back and forth to town. I pulled my notebook out of my backpack and handed it to him, then waved my hand to imitate writing while I mouthed: give me your cell number.
“Reilly? I know you’re there, I hear boat motors and birds chirping. I want an answer—”
“The answer is that local law enforcement haven’t found dick, and if they have, nobody’s shared it with Crystal or me, so I’m taking an alternative route to find Thed—”
“Stud Mahoney, Reilly! Forget about the charity case!”
“I’m hoping one will lead to the other, Booth. Now what about my plane?”
Silence.
“Booth?”
“The commissioner of the BVI’s Royal VIPD is considering the request—”
“Considering? Government-time’s even slower than island time. Dammit, shit’s happening fast here and if I can’t get from point A to point B—”
“Where’s Mrs. Thedford? I have some questions for her.”
Whoa. “What kind of questions?”
“Let’s just say your pretty lady friend may not be as squeaky clean as her AID concert might make you think.”
I swallowed.
Jeremy handed me back my notebook. I mouthed a thank-you and said I’d call him tomorrow. Then jumped off the boat, my mind atwirl from Booth’s insinuations. I considered asking him about the red Cigarette, but given his comment on the “charity case,” I let it go. It was 7:55 and I needed to get out front fast.
“Text me…when you have me cleared…for water landings.” I was talking and jogging at the same time. “Which better…be…by morning…for me…to be…effective.”
“The hell are you doing, Reilly, jerking off?”
I hit the END button as I ran through the lobby toward the front door.
A black SUV with tinted windows was parked out front, and like a foolish mouse I headed straight for the cheese.
THE SUV’S PASSENGER SIDE window lowered a few inches. I stopped a couple feet away. It was pitch black inside, so I took a deep breath and moved closer to look in the window.
Inside was a face with blood red eyes. Literally. I jerked back.
“You Buck Reilly?”
“That’s right.”
The window lowered further. The man held a sawed-off shotgun.
“Get in back.”
I may have spotted my underwear as I stood frozen.
“Nothing to worry about,” Sawed-off said.
I took a lungful of air, rolled some imaginary dice, and pulled open the back door. Slid inside the ice-cold SUV and found a man next to me with a shotgun resting between his legs, pointed toward the roof.
“Let’s go,” he said.
The driver slowly edged out of the circular entry and up the hill, then turned left.
“Where are we going?” I said.
None of them responded. Instead, the driver pushed a button and ear-deafening music erupted inside the vehicle. I nearly jumped out of my seat, but none of them so much as flinched.
So much for conversation.
As we wound up and down the road toward the port I tried to note landmarks, but darkness fell quickly and I had nothing but the occasional lighted sign or structure to track. Three cruise ships were at the docks, and as we approached them we turned to the right and began to weave back up the hill. Even though the air conditioning was blasting as high as the music, there was a smell of perspiration inside the SUV. The three men were all dreadlocked, beefy, sunglass-wearing soldiers, and I was either their guest, or target.
Tourist facilities disappeared as we switch-backed our way into the mountainous region, which I recalled from previous visits was above Magen’s Bay. A sudden turn up a washed-out gravel path resulted in a gut-busting jolt that rattled my teeth along with the SUV. No speed was lost—if anything, the driver accelerated.
But soon he slowed, then braked abruptly. The headlights illuminated a chain link gate. After a moment a man emerged from the woods—it took me a few seconds to realize he was holding the largest blunt I’d ever seen. The driver rolled down his window and the sentry handed him the huge smoldering reefer. The driver inhaled deeply and passed it to Sawed-off in the passenger seat. He did the same, then handed it back to my seatmate, who kept the ember glowing and tried to hand it to me.
I held up my hand to abstain, but his expression turned to a sneer of mistrust. The driver and Sawed-off both turned in their seats to stare at me.
Talk about peer pressure.
I took hold of the monster with both hands and tried to draw in just enough to make the cherry glow—
My lungs expanded and my throat constricted and I started to cough uncontrollably. A head rush like I hadn’t felt in years hit me and I wondered what these boys were smoking—check that, what I had just smoked.
The men in the car and the guard outside laughed and laughed. More unintelligible statements, laughs and fist-bumps, and the gate screeched open. Gravel blasted out behind us as we launched up the hill to a promontory—even in the darkness I could tell there’d be 360-degree views. In the center of it all was an old house made of stone and block with a red tiled roof and a lot of people standing around it, all holding guns.
Even though the smoke had only been in my lungs for a second, I felt as if my head had separated from my body and floated above the scene, untethered. My backseat neighbor spoke to me, lifted the shotgun, and opened the truck door. The other men followed and I sat there a moment, unable to feel my feet. I took a deep breath and tried to gather what was left of my wits to deal with whoever I was soon to meet, for whatever purpose.
And shit, I was stoned. Not wrecked, but definitely stoned.
The others stared at me. I tried to count how many there were but kept losing track. At least ten men, many of whom had glowing cherries in the middle of their faces, which I hoped were cigarettes or blunts and not glowing red Cyclops eyes. I couldn’t afford another toke, decorum be damned. I had no tolerance for the stuff anymore
I had a fleeting thought that perhaps John Thedford was being held in the house, and possibly even Stud Mahoney, which would be marvelous since he was such an accomplished action star and could help figure out what to do next….
“Buck Reilly,” a loud voice came from the lit porch.
I floated toward the sound, concentrating on the crunching noise caused by each step, which sounded like chewing Wheaties. The observation struck me as funny but I bit my lip to stifle my laughter, knowing that once I started I wouldn’t be able to stop. Damn weed.
“That’s me,” I said to the giant standing on the porch. “And you are?”
A booming laugh and hot breath sprang from his mouth and I imagined it shooting my hair backwards like in cartoons. I again stifled a laugh.
“Let’s say I’m an interested partner.” The man was huge, much bigger than the others, and had a shaved head. He wore sunglasses even though it was pitch black, which matched the tone of his skin. He reminded me of the alien in Predator, who stalked and killed everybody but
Arnold Schwarzenegger, who outsmarted the creature and lived to become governor of California.
A high-pitched giggle escaped my lips.
“Something funny?” he said.
One of the three-dreadlocked men who had brought me here spoke in their undecipherable argot, then nodded toward me with a chuckle.
“Aha,” the big man said. Big yellow teeth glistened in my direction.
Chastened, I sucked in a deep breath.
“Not really in the market for a partner—”
“Listen, I know all about your work as a for-profit Indiana Jones wannabe.”
Damn, had everyone in the USVI researched my past?
“Which is why I’m guessing you’re either the new Big Man that’s rumored to be moving into town, or you’re connected to him.”
The new Big Man?
“Um, not really sure what you’re talking about—”
His smile remained in place, but fewer teeth were showing.
“I understand, brudda, not exactly neutral ground here, but you need to know my network’s the best in the islands. I’m the biggest importer, have the most control, and can deliver quality product in a steady pipeline.”
I swallowed. He thinks I’m—
“And if it ain’t you, which wouldn’t surprise me since you came here all by yourself, than you need to tell your boss we should meet.” He held out his hand. “Boom-Boom Burke.”
“Swell.” I took a steadying breath. “Look, I’m here for the thing at Foxy’s—the charity concert. To promote adoption.”
The yellow teeth disappeared.
It all came back to me in a muddled rush—the phone calls, the threats, the kidnappings. Getting caught up in the middle of the local gang leader’s desire to expand his business wouldn’t help, nor would it do much for my health.
“How do you feel about adoption?” I said.
My question caused a sudden mental image of Dr. Ruth, the tiny little sex therapist who used to be on television, and I had to bite my lip not to laugh again. I couldn’t read his expression in the darkness, and my direct question was less than crafty, but under the circumstances I felt like I was doing okay.
“How do I feel about it?” he said. “Sounds like a good cover to me, that’s what I think.” He laughed. “And that plane of yours is ideal for inter-island deliveries, so I’m telling you, we could do some serious business together. From what I’m hearing on the street, you, or whoever you work for, are diversified, big time, all over the world. I want to partner with you and grow.”
El crappo.
“Here’s the thing, Boom-Boom, starting tomorrow I’m balls to the walls trying to run celeb—um, movie stars and singers around the islands to help with this charity concert. And, well, all the others—the logistical help—It’s all been cancelled ‘cause of bomb threats and other challenges, like the promoter, John Thedford, disappearing. And Stud Mahoney’s been kidnapped.”
I couldn’t believe I’d gotten through all that. Boom-Boom was staring at me like he couldn’t believe it either.
“The hell you saying?”
“This concert, it’s only to promote adoption,” I said. “It’s a charity, know what I mean? In my personal opinion their goals are way too lofty, but hey, nothing ventured, nothing—”
“You’re starting to piss me off with this bullshit,” Boom-Boom said.
“—gained. So, my question for you, before we talk about any partnering with, ah, your group, is…” What was the question? Oh. “My question is if you know anything about phone calls, challenges, threats to the Thedfords—”
Book-Boom reached out like he wanted to grab me by the throat but stopped short, hesitated, and dropped his island-sized paw.
“You need to say no to weed, brudda, makes you talk crazy.”
That I couldn’t argue with. But my head was clearing.
“I know all about that concert, yeah, and about that dude disappearing.”
“You know where he is?” I said. “Or Stud Mahoney?”
Everyone stood motionless, all their eyes fixed on us.
Stay off the ropes…
“How about this.” I squinted at him in the darkness. “All bullshit aside, you help me find Thedford and Mahoney, I’ll make the connection you’re asking about.”
“Aha! Knew you was bullshitting me, Reilly.”
“But this is all tied together—I can’t tell how, but if I don’t hurry up and find John Thedford and the actor, bad things are going to happen. So I’ll help you, but you need to help me first.”
Boom-Boom stared at me a long moment.
“Wait here,” he said finally.
A couple of his men followed after him and entered the building. The rest milled about and kept an eye on me. A shooting star tore across the night sky only to vanish into the blackness. I could relate. I’d gambled by telling him what he wanted to hear, which could either blow up in my face or create an urgency that might actually help.
A cell phone rang and one of my minders answered. I couldn’t be sure, but based on his incomprehensible accent and mouth full of marbles, I thought it might have been the driver of the SUV that brought me here.
He glanced at me, grunted something, and walked down to where the SUV was parked. He got inside and turned it on but kept the lights off. An electrical jolt ran through my spine and down my limbs. I looked around in the darkness, my eyes having adjusted, but saw nothing except natural walls of dark undergrowth that surrounded the perimeter. Had Boom-Boom seen through my con? Should I run? Scream?
A shaft of light illuminated the building entry, then Boom-Boom and his men fanned out toward me. I sucked in a breath and held it. He moved through the darkness like a panther.
“I have your number,” he said. “And I have eyes all over these islands. I’ll see what I can find out.”
I exhaled.
“But you tell the Big Man about me too, all right, brudda?”
I was tempted to mention that Diego Francis had referenced some new opportunity too but figured that would be pushing my luck. I was leaving in one piece and I might have Boom-Boom Burke’s network working on my behalf, which could be a good thing.
But I’d owe him an introduction to someone I didn’t know.
What a tangled web we weave when trying to save our asses.
ONCE BACK AT FRENCHMAN’S REEF I wanted nothing more than to collapse on my bed and sleep for a week. Couldn’t do that without knowing Crystal’s fate with the picketers on Jost. I also wanted to know what Booth’s intel on her might be, but I had a feeling it would take me a while to find out, assuming I could.
The pile of papers I retrieved from John Thedford’s briefcase brought back the brutal reality that I had to be in three places at once over the next few days. I ran my palm down my cheek—the pain in my jaw was still sharp from today’s brass knuckle brunch. That realization led to another one: I hadn’t had a meal all day. And so with a cheeseburger and cold beer on order from room service I sat back to consider my options.
I only came up with one.
After several rings, Ray Floyd’s voice came on the line.
“Based on what I see on caller ID, I shouldn’t be taking this call.”
Damn Booth.
“Don’t be silly, Ray. Would I be calling to cause you any heartburn?”
“Heartburn, no. Brain damage, yes. How’s Crystal Thedford doing? Are you two an item yet?”
“She’s a married woman,” I said over the sound of machine gun fire and explosions in the background. By day Ray was cerebral, a true island philosopher, but by night he was Delta Force and Seal Team Six rolled into one, poised to dole out serious punishment to video bad guys. I’d actually seen him dig deep and deploy those virtual skills in real life a couple of times, which is one of the reasons I was calling him now.
“Is the Beast okay?” he said.
Boom-bam-whoosh…
“Ray! Can you pause the noise for a minute!”
Silence. “W
hat’s the problem, Buck?”
“Have you seen the news? John Thedford’s still missing, and that actor Stud Mahoney has been—”
“Kidnapped, yeah, I saw that. Is it all related?”
“I think so, but in addition, there was a bomb threat against the charter airline that was supposed to ferry Crystal’s guests around—”
“Seaborne Airlines? I ever tell you I turned down a job offer from them to be their head mechanic? They’re grounded?”
“No, you didn’t, and yes, they are. I have a couple speed boats at my disposal, but Crystal’s like the little Dutch Boy with her finger in the dyke trying to keep the whole concert from unraveling, and…” I paused, not wanting to give Ray too much to be worried about.
“And what?” he said.
“And I need your help.”
Silence.
“And Lenny Jackson’s help too—did he have his debate last night? Did you go?”
“Oh my God, you missed it. Lenny was…well, a true island original’s about all I can say. Holy smokes. The other candidates sat there with their mouths open when he got on a roll. The crowd loved him.”
I’d really wanted to see him but couldn’t dwell on that right now.
“What do you need me to do?” Ray said. “And why is South Region SAC involved?”
Damn caller ID. Booth’s a ninny.
“Nothing hairy—”
“Sure, Buck, that’s what you always say.”
“Flying celebrities around the islands sound hairy to you? Movie stars, singers, all kinds of famous people are descending here tomorrow. I can’t babysit them and look for Thedford and the missing action star.”
“What am I supposed to fly?” he said.
“How should I know? Charter something. ISA had budgeted to pay Seaborne, they have money.”
When I recited the schedule of who was arriving and when, I had him. He oohed, he ahhed, he said “This could be really fun,” and promised to see if Lenny was available too.
What would he say if he saw the bruise on the side of my face?
Didn’t matter, because I had no intention of putting Ray in harm’s way. He could have the glory runs with the big shots while I chased my tail looking for answers.
3 Crystal Blue Page 9
